


Sword, Song, and Honor

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2002-07-21
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3762030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Such are a dim light and a cold comfort in these days, but they were all I have left." An Eowyn story. Try it, you'll like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

A/N: I'm not really sure how to describe it, except that I have been thinking a lot lately about Éowyn and why she does what she does in ROTK, considering that she has only known Aragorn a few days and never really gets many chances to talk to him. This may turn out to be something of an AU, I'm not sure . . . although at present I can't really think of anything in the book that directly contradicts my interpretation of events, but maybe I overlooked something. Anyway, this is my attempt to explore Éowyn's character and motivations, and try my hand at a romance fic. I don't think this is a pairing that's been done before, and we'll see if it works. This has nothing to do with my other story, Healing, just so you know . . . the two aren't meant to be connected.  
  
  
  
So it seems all my efforts have been for naught. All that I have endured, all that I have thrown away, in the end could help no one, least of all those whom I love most. This is not the life my uncle promised me when he took Éomer and I into his house, when we were young and frightened and lost following the death of our mother. This is not the courageous and just brother who my mother loved, nor the gentle uncle who comforted me and raised us as his own children. Nor is this the proud nation that Théodred described to me, young and free in the tales he told.  
  
The golden hall of Meduseld, where the King sits, that is the seat of honor and justice, where oaths are made and kept, where warriors gather to feast in times of peace and good fellowship, and assemble to ride in times of war. No fear is there to be found in the bright Sons of Eorl, nor faithless oaths or punishment undeserved. Such were my cousin's words to me when we rode out of Eastfold, far from my father's house, going to the house of my uncle far away who I did not know. With such words he sought to comfort me in my grief for my parents, and by the time we beheld the dome of Meduseld shining far away in the sun, I felt it was a beacon that lit my way to hope and a new life.  
  
I was seven years old. Éomer was eleven, and we two were inseparable for the next eight years, clinging to one another in a new place, surrounded by strangers. I still remember when we approached the throne, where Théoden King sat, crown on his head and a long sword belted at his side. No shadow of age in those eyes then, only a deep pain that mirrored my own. My face showed no fear, not with Éomer at my side, but he tells me I almost crushed his hand in mine when we entered the hall.  
  
Stern and lordly, but gentle and kind as spring coming after winter, Théoden King did not allow us to come more than a few steps toward the throne before he stood to greet us. Coming down from the high seat, he knelt before us with all his household present, holding out his arms and gathering us into his warm embrace. I knew then this man had loved his sister, my mother, as much as I did, and for the first time I let the tears fall, and clung to this kindly stranger who was to be my father, and wept.  
  
He held us both for a long time, speaking words of reassurance and comfort, and telling us we were safe, telling us we were welcome, telling us we were loved. Telling us we had come home at last.  
  
  
  
And so we had, for a brief time before the darkness came. Meduseld did become my home, but I can hardly bear to look upon it now. I am suffocating within these walls; I am slowly dying, and I have been for some time now. No one can see it, save only those who delight to watch.  
  
Ever since I was seventeen I have watched this darkness grow. Duty and honor are words I heeded well, duty to the man who will no longer protect me, and to him who I would not allow to try. The hall is dim and the air is stale, for the sunlight and fresh air has not been allowed inside for many months. I stand in my accustomed place, behind the throne of Eorl, and watch as a servant with a forked tongue and lascivious eyes dictates the administration of the Mark to the once-strong man who is King in this hall now only in name. Many years I have waited for this day, when the slow death of the King I love caused everything to collapse around our ears. Five years ago I had faith yet, faith in my brother, faith in my cousin, faith in him. Even if poisoned words could sap my uncle's strength, they had no power to sway the resolve of younger warriors in Gondor and Rohan. Others could see the lengthening Shadow in the East, and were girding to face it. And I had my duty to the King, to care for him in his age and his illness as he had cared for me in my youth and my grief, even if he cared for me no more.  
  
Even when I sent him away, and the eyes of Gríma Wormtongue grew bolder, and behind closed doors he spoke of marriage as if he already had Théoden's permission, still I held out hope. For though I might be trapped at the last, still in allowing it I might save the man I loved, and at night when I heard Gríma whisper outside my chamber I might lie back and see him riding free, into the battle that he loved, far from me and never to return, and if not happy without me, at least safe from the poison that rotted Edoras. In the darkest night, alone in my chambers with darkness all around, I had three points of light, three men whom I loved riding on the prairies to the East, where war was open and fought with swords, instead of with dishonest words in the dark. But now Théodred was slain, and Éomer imprisoned. And he was dead.  
  
I had sent him away to save his life. I will never forget the grief and confusion in his face when I told him I had never loved him, never forget the anguish of my own heart at the pain I knew I had caused. I thought it was the only way, the only thing I could do to save his life. But now he is dead, and all I have done was deny him and me the comfort of knowing we were loved. I had only given him more pain before he died, and thrown aside one of the few things in my life that I valued.  
  
  
  
'Will you let this insolence go unpunished, lord?' Gríma's soft words were the only response to Éomer's report of his meeting with the three strangers. Éomer did not even look at him, standing straight and proud, giving me a swift look before returning his gaze to Théoden. The King said nothing, but only looked on Éomer with a blank expression. 'Will you let your commands go unheeded, and allow a rebellious nephew to endanger the security of your kingdom to increase only his own glory? Many times have I said that he was too young for such a post as he holds.'  
  
'I would know the King's judgement of my actions, not yours,' Éomer said calmly, but I could see he was barely restraining his wrath. I was puzzled by his tale, and confused as to what manner of man the leader of these strangers must have been, to make Éomer risk his life to let him go freely in our realm. Still I knew him and I knew that it was only a matter of a few ill-chosen words to bring death to both Gríma and my brother.  
  
I did not know if I could forgive Théoden that. I had forgiven much, said nothing of the craven policies and the blatant injustice I had witnessed, as many trusted and honorable men were demoted or sent away in disgrace for speaking the truth. I loved him as a father, but if he killed my brother, whatever Éomer might do to deserve such a punishment, I did not know what I would do or how I would justify my service to this man.  
  
One hand stole into the pocket of my gown, fingers wrapping the hilt of the slender dagger secreted there. Futile gesture though I knew it to be, I had carried the weapon since I first realized Wormtongue's true intentions toward myself, so many years ago. Though with each day it became clearer how truly helpless I remained, for there are some wars that cannot be won with steel, that cannot be won at all.  
  
'Will you not speak, lord, that this young fool might have from your lips the justice he asks for? Let him know from your own words that traitors to your kingdom will be punished.'  
  
Slowly Théoden turned to look at him, but the sound of metal against leather drew my horrified eyes as Éomer whipped his sword out of its sheath.  
  
'Call me traitor again, Wormtongue, and you will soon be missing your head!'  
  
Gríma recoiled, and I would have been filled with disgust at the fearful pallor of his face had I not been terrified for my brother's life. What would befall him if he slew the King's counselor I knew only too well. Gripping the back of the throne hard, I shook my head, trying to catch Éomer's eye, but he did not look in my direction.  
  
'Lord, will you allow your faithful servant to be slain in your own hall?' Gríma yelped.  
  
Théoden raised his head. ' I do not know what madness is this, Éomer, sister-son, that you would so defy my commands and threaten death to my counselors in my hall,' he said, and his voice was weary and sad. 'But it is clear you can no longer be trusted as Third Marshal. Or in any position among the knights of my household.'  
  
I could see the blood slowly leave my brother's face, and I could not still the trembling of my hands, clutching the polished stone of the ancient seat until the knuckles showed yellow through my skin. I could hear, in the soft, tired words of an old man, the death knell of our country and our hopes.  
  
A last time Éomer knelt, his eyes very bright against the sickly pallor of his face. Very slowly, reverently, he laid his naked sword at the King's feet.  
  
He stayed thus for a long moment, on one knee with his head bowed, a last gesture of fealty to the memory of the man he had once long ago been proud to serve. Then he rose and stepped back from the throne, his hands open and empty at his sides. He looked at the same time proud and vulnerable, and I felt hot tears prickling behind my eyes. But I would not cry. Not here, in the hall. Not in front of Gríma. I would never let that worm see my tears.  
  
'Guards!' Théoden's voice turned sharp, but it was the querulous voice of an impatient old man, and I looked away, unable to watch them take Éomer. I turned my head to stare at the great tapestry that hung behind the throne, the figure of Eorl the Young as he rode to the Field of Celebrant, his bright hair streaming in the wind and his sword upraised. Was this, then, to be the fate of the House of Eorl? I heard the footsteps of the guards as they approached the throne, heard Théoden sigh, as though very tired.  
  
When I heard the door to the hall open, I turned around, and Éomer turned back in the same instant, and our eyes met. Then the door closed between us, and he was led away.  
  
  
  
I took my leave of the King's presence after dinner, and made my way toward the prison levels.  
  
I had barely made it out of the Great Hall before I knew I had been followed.  
  
'My lady.'  
  
I thought about ignoring him, but decided it would probably be best to hear him out. Éomer's life might well hang on the next words I said to this man, and when I turned I saw that he knew this, and delighted in it.  
  
I paused deliberately with my back to him, reminding him that I was a member of the royal house, while he, whatever favor he had with Théoden, was still a commoner.  
  
'Yes?' Cool, emotionless, not that that was going to fool Wormtongue. But I knew better than any of the men of my acquaintance the perils of rash anger, and I was resolved not to fall victim to it.  
  
'I merely wished to express my concern for your welfare in this difficult time, my lady,' he said gently, and the snake oil that dripped from his voice fairly made me gag. 'The treason of our Third Marshal is an unfortunate matter for our kingdom, but few at court seem to consider the fact that it is your brother and the last of your family who is imprisoned. If this is hard for us all, it must be hardest for you.'  
  
Ah, Master Worm, the sincerity of your concern overwhelms me! But I am not about to sob hysterically at your ability to state the obvious. But I know well you do not expect me to lean on the shoulder of him who would murder my kin. Still, Éomer is all I have left now, and if you wish to play with me before you strike I cannot prevent you.  
  
'I am grateful for your concern,' I said coolly. Days ago I would have left it at that, and escaped before he had time to state his purpose. But I no longer had that option, and so I did not pretend that I thought him finished. I met his eyes levelly, waiting.  
  
'You, unlike your brother, have devoted your life to loyal service to our lord, and it grieves me such service is recognized by so few,' he went on.  
  
'I do not desire recognition for what I do out of love and duty,' I replied.  
  
He smiled, and I knew he was enjoying this. Oh, for a sword! and I would finish what my brother had failed to do! But no, I would not give in to anger and so doom us all. 'Still you should know that there are those . . . such as myself . . . who see and appreciate your efforts and your loyalty, and would have pity for you in this difficult hour.'  
  
I stiffened at this, forcing myself slowly to relax, one muscle at a time, before allowing myself to reply. My voice was cold. 'I desire no man's pity.' And yours I desire even less, for in your mouth pity means naught but blackmail!  
  
'Éowyn, Éowyn!' And his voice was now that of a man humoring an angry child. 'You are distraught. But you have my pity whether you desire it or not.' He smiled again, and his cold eyes surveyed me slowly, glittering, as if I were an object put on display for his amusement. Ah, but there was a man once who would have killed you for such a glance!  
  
Time to cut to the chase, I decided, before all my resolve went for naught and I gave in to the urge to wring his scrawny neck. 'And would your pity extend to interceding with the King for my brother's life?'  
  
He shook his head slowly, his smile fading. 'Ah, my lady! You must understand, this is a serious matter. Please believe me when I say that I would do anything I could to spare you pain. But decisions in this are the King's, not mine, and he is resolved that your brother has betrayed our trust.'  
  
Valar grant me patience! 'Do not seek to confuse me with words, as if I were a child,' I warned him. 'I know well your power in this court; think you that I am blind? Théoden will save Éomer at your command, just as he is now prepared to slay him for you.'  
  
'At my command, my lady? You know I am but a servant, and I only advise, I do not command. But this time my advice has been in accordance with the law. The King's own law states that strangers must present themselves at Edoras, and Éomer knew this.'  
  
'The law has been set aside at your suggestion before,' I reminded him. 'Why not in this instance, if your pity for me is so great?'  
  
He only shook his head. 'I am sorry, my lady,' he said. 'There is nothing I can do.' But he stood there still, as if waiting. So he was not content to trap me, but would make me beg for it? There are limits, I thought furiously, to what the House of Eorl will submit to thus!  
  
'Then why did you seek me out? If you will kill my brother, I would spend his last hours with him, and not in idle talk with you.' I turned away.  
  
I had taken maybe three steps down the hall before I stopped, and as I stood there in agony I could feel his black eyes on my back. Watching me, waiting for me to turn, knowing he held me a prisoner already. But I would not go. He knew I would not. Whatever it cost me, I would not let Éomer be killed.  
  
Words could not express my loathing for the man in that moment. Still, I reminded myself, I had done things out of love that were far harder than this.  
  
It was not until I heard the scrape of boots on stone that I turned around. Gríma had turned and was walking in the other direction.  
  
'Gríma!'  
  
He ignored me. So, in punishment for my hesitation, he would make me run after him? He would get more than he bargained for, maybe. Three long strides brought me to his side, and seizing his shoulder I spun him around. He was so surprised that I would stop him by force that I was able to slam him up against the wall. For an instant the mask was gone, and he blinked up at me in confusion and no little fear.  
  
Only for an instant though, then he straightened and stepped back, straightening his robes with an air of offended dignity. 'My lady, I can understand you are distraught, but I can see no reason for such an assault! If you will excuse me, I am needed elsewhere. There is nothing I can do for you or your brother.'  
  
When he tried to turn I moved in front of him, thanking any gods there ever were that I at least was taller than him. Another woman, I supposed, would have persuaded him by seduction or subtle wordplay, but neither had ever come easily to me. 'Do not think to play games with me!' I said. 'Think you I do not know what you want? I am prepared to give it to you, but I will not be played with!'  
  
He raised an eyebrow. 'What is it that you think I want, that I would let my own desires override the security of the Mark?'  
  
I had to pause and take a deep breath, clenching my hands behind my back, before I could speak calmly. Remember, I told myself sternly, he needs you as much as you need him. He cannot make you beg him if you will not. 'You wish to have me as your wife, and the throne of Rohan when my uncle is gone,' I said. 'And if you think Théoden will force me into marriage with anyone, regardless of how strong is your control over him, you are a fool.' I let my voice sink to a whisper. 'You have done your work well, perhaps too well. My uncle will not live much longer, and if you do not act quickly you will not outlive him long! Éomer you may kill without soiling your own hands, and perhaps even Théodred, but my death you will find harder to bring about without endangering yourself. Still you must find a way to put an end to all three of us before Théoden dies'or the first act of the new ruler, whoever he or she may be, will be to order your death!'  
  
'Éomer you have marked for death already. Théodred is a warrior, so his death will not be hard to contrive, for one such as you. But my death would be noticed, and avenged. And if I am unmarried and all my male relatives dead, I will take the throne of Rohan and all will owe allegiance to me'unless you are my husband.'  
  
'Your beauty is beyond compare, lady,' he said, 'and any man would be proud to be your husband, myself no less than any other. But I know not where how you came by these accusations! I realize you are distressed, but you must not give way to foolish anger. I trust you will not be so rash as your brother was.'  
  
'You trust I will not be so rash?' I murmured softly, taking a step closer to him and striking out with my left hand, grasping the collar of his robe and throwing my whole weight against him, pushing him off balance so that I held him against the wall. At the same time I drew the knife from its hidden pocket, bringing it up to press against his throat faster than even I had believed was possible. 'Would you stake your life on that trust?' I asked, my voice still quiet but hard as steel. 'For that is what you do. And if I were to give in to anger you would not live to see me regret it.'  
  
He brought one arm up as if to push me away, but I pressed the knife down harder, and he froze abruptly. For a long moment we stood thus, as a drop of blood welled around the edge of the blade.  
  
'I could have you executed for this!' he hissed furiously.  
  
I laughed. 'You could never prove it,' I said.  
  
Gríma's face was still, but his eyes glittered with a malice that was palpable. I could see he knew I was right. He would accept my bargain, I knew, because he had no choice.  
  
And neither did I.  
  
I drew back, seeing acceptance in his eyes.  
  
'We have a bargain, then, you and I,' he said, and his voice had regained its familiar oily quality.  
  
I held the knife up, wiping the blood from the blade with my fingers, watching the crimson droplets run down my hand before I put it back in my pocket. Clasping my hands behind me with his blood on my palm, I imagined that gave me some sense of power, but it was only an illusion.  
  
I wondered if my love could see me now. They say the men of Númenor can see far away, read the thoughts of others many leagues away. If you see me now, love, forgive me! I do only what I must, to save one who is dear to me, as I have done too many times before. You told me once that to rule a nation one must know the meaning of sacrifice, but little did I know then just what that would mean.  
  
But I was not of Númenor, and whatever glory might have shone from the long- dead White Tree, my ancestors had never seen it. No light shone on the Rohirrim but the silver flash of swords, and the sun on the hair of the warriors at Celebrant. No learning or far-seeing had we, only sword and song, and honor. Such are a dim light and a cold comfort in these days, but they were all I had left.  
  
'I will wed thee, Gríma son of Gálmód,' I said, and the words tasted like ash in my mouth. There, I told myself. I had done it. That wasn't so hard, was it? I knew he was smiling, but I did not see him anymore. Another face was in his place, the strong face of a warrior, the nobility of Numenor and the fire that belongs to Rohan. A proud face, shining with a fierce love of his home, his people . . . and me. Once upon a time, seven years ago. So long ago, but I can still remember every angle of that face, and the roughness of his beard against my fingers, and the softness of his lips.  
  
I had seen him only once, in all those years. He passed through the court, only here for a day, riding away north on a borrowed horse and a mysterious errand of which he would tell no one. There were new lines in his face I did not remember, and a stony, closed look when he saw me. I know not what kept me silent then, what power gave me strength in that moment, for no one knows how I longed to rush to him, to take him in my arms, to cradle his head against me and tell him I loved him, that I had always loved him. To beg for his forgiveness. To comfort him, when I knew I never could. But he said no word to me and left, and I did not think I would ever see him again.  
  
I gave him up so I would not have to watch him die. But why must it always be thus? Why must the choices always be so hard?  
  
Gríma was saying something but I did not hear it. I turned around while he was still talking, turning once again toward the stone stairway that led down to the prison levels. There was much I had to discuss with Éomer. I had to hear my brother's voice, know that he was safe yet, and somehow make him see that this was not a foe he could defeat with a sword. And I had to somehow conceal from him the despair that ate away my heart from the inside, so that he would not see the pain and guess its source, and in his fury seal his own fate.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Such are a dim light and a cold comfort in these days, but they were all I have left." An Eowyn story. Try it, you'll like it.

'Éowyn, you should not have come here!'  
  
The cell was maybe three paces long and wide, with floor and walls of stone, save for the door, which was made of iron bars. There was a pile of straw along the far wall, but no other furnishings.  
  
'Éomer . . .' I could speak no further. There was so much I longed to say to him, but what was the use? If he had not drawn his sword this day in the hall, Gríma would have found another way to trap him, and quickly. Éomer did not know it, but Gríma had poisoned the King's mind against him before these three strangers had come to sway him to near treason.  
  
Still, the law Éomer had disobeyed had been made recently at the urging of Wormtongue, and I knew my brother to be of sound judgment in military matters if nothing else. Whatever the errand of these three strangers in our land, it must have been an urgent one.  
  
His hands slowly uncurled from around the cold bars and reached out to gently take my own. There was a dull despair lingering in the darkness behind those eyes, a look I had not seen before, and it frightened me. I wanted to reassure him, but I had no comfort to offer. Only the knowledge that his death might be postponed, and to Éomer that would be no comfort if he knew what price I had paid.  
  
And he must not know. That much was certain. Much though I wished I might throw myself into his arms as I had long ago, and let his strength support me awhile, I knew that I could not accept the shelter and protection he would so willingly offer. I could not speak my heart to him, nor take comfort in confiding to him my despair at the thought of what I had agreed to. Oh Éomer! what will you do, what will you say, when you learn the truth? For I cannot hide this from you forever, nor can I ever persuade you I did it of my free will. How can I make you see that it is necessary? And how will I stop you, before your anger seals your own death?  
  
I leaned forward, whispering as we had when we were children, awake when we should be sleeping. 'Tell me of the strangers,' I said. 'Who were they, and what was their errand? I know you did not tell the King all.'  
  
He shook his head, and I saw that his face darkened, though with what I could not tell. Dread for the future, certainly, but there was grief there, too, before he hid it. 'Strange creatures,' he said softly. 'A Man, an Elf, and a Dwarf, out of the Golden Wood. We rode past them in the grass without seeing them, for their raiment was of Elvish make.'  
  
'Never did I think I could pass three strangers in plain day, and not halt and challenge them! Indeed, it was they who first challenged us!'  
  
I shook my head, laughing a little, though the sound caught in my throat. 'If they escaped your vigilance, they must be Elvish folk indeed! But how is it that an Elf and Dwarf travel together? And what do they do in the lands of Men?'  
  
'The Man's name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn,' he said, and his voiced dropped. I frowned. 'He claims he brings the sword of Elendil reforged to Minas Tirith, in Gondor.'  
  
I breathed out slowly. Narsil reforged . . . the legends of Elendil were old, far older than our people's rule in Rohan, but the songs of Gondor had been sung in Edoras before the dark times, and I knew of Elendil, and the power of the name of Narsil. If the Blade That Was Broken was reforged . . .  
  
Then indeed, the tides of war were sweeping swifter than we had imagined, and soon events would be upon us that would shape the end of the Third Age, if not the end of the world. The Nameless Enemy was gathering, this we had known long, though Théoden had heeded it but little. But here at last was evidence that the enemies of Darkness were mobilizing, and I knew suddenly that we stood at the edge of some great cataclysm. Events were rushing toward some dreadful climax, and even the wild folk of the North knew it. Men and Elves had not ridden together in battle since the Last Alliance, and here they came again, and with the same sword that had struck down the Dark Lord at the end of the Second Age.  
  
Open war would soon be declared, I doubted not. And the King of the Mark would send no aid to Gondor. Not only that, but his two ablest captains were gone, Théodred slain and Éomer imprisoned. Not for the first time I wondered whether Gríma Wormtongue served another master besides his own greed and lust, for he could not have timed his base treachery better. At the moment of Doom, the Riddermark was powerless to assist those men we had sworn our alliance.  
  
'The Elf and the Dwarf are of high lineage in their own kin. The Lord Aragorn said they were hunting orcs, who had taken captive two of their comrades.'  
  
'The very orcs you slew?'  
  
'The very same. But if the halflings were among them they had escaped already.'  
  
'Halflings?'  
  
Éomer nodded. 'The Lord Aragorn said that their companions were indeed halflings, and would appear to be no more than children.'  
  
Out of the North, and bound for Gondor . . . Memory whispered, and I gripped Éomer's hands hard. I saw his face again, turning to look back one time before he rode away North. Imladris . . . wherever that valley lay, it was there he had gone, and he had gone to bring aid to Gondor, that I knew without him saying it. 'Whither came they? And had they news of . . . ?'  
  
He hesitated a second too long, and I knew.  
  
'Valar, no . . .' I could only see his eyes as they had last looked on me, hard as stone, a careful mask against whatever pain lay beneath. Had he died, then, believing I did not love him, that I had never loved him?  
  
'When?' I whispered. 'How?'  
  
Éomer pulled my hands toward him, through the bars, cradling them close to his heart. He would not meet my eyes. I leaned forward, letting my forehead rest against the cold metal, closing my eyes and trying to focus on Éomer's words, trying to stay on my feet when the floor seemed to have dropped out from under me.  
  
'He traveled south with Aragorn and his company,' Éomer said. 'He was slain defending the halflings at Rauros.'  
  
He had been dead weeks . . . and I had known nothing, sensed nothing. But how could I? It seemed wrong, terribly wrong, that he should have been dead so long and I would have known nothing. I wondered if he had thought of me at his death, and if his thoughts were angry or bitter. Did he love me still? Did he hate me for what I did to him? What I did to preserve his life . . . a vain sacrifice I made for both of us, and now he would never know.  
  
Oh Boromir! So we were born unto an ill fate, thou and I! And so it was all for nothing, the pain I brought to both of us, when I thought to save your life. Alas that there are other perils in this world besides the treachery of Wormtongue, and I could do naught to protect you from them!  
  
Would that I had called to you, said some word, when you passed through Edoras that last time! Barely a few months ago, and I saw how your eyes rested on me at that meeting. Then at least I might have told you all, and if you challenged the worm then and there you might have won, or at least died close to me. Now I will never be able to tell you how much I loved you, how much I always loved you. You who would have protected me . . . it was I who hurt you, who tried to protect you and failed. And now what have I? A kingdom in ruin, and marriage to a faithless, contemptible wretch. And Éomer . . . if I can shield him as I could not thee!  
  
'The Lord Aragorn was with him at his death?' I whispered. My eyes were dry and stinging, sorrow and remorse too deep for tears. Éomer nodded. 'And he is coming here?'  
  
'Aye, he gave me his word. And despite what Wormtongue says, I believe he will keep it.'  
  
I nodded mutely, an almost physical weight settling in my chest as I squeezed his hands tighter, knowing in some detached part of my mind that it would not be long before my legs would no longer support me.  
  
Éowyn . . .' My brother's eyes were anguished, and I knew he felt my grief as keenly as if it were his own. Remembering what it was that had brought me down here, I struggled to find words. Somehow . . . I must make him see . . . I cannot lose Éomer, too. He is all I have left. My parents . . . Théoden . . . Théodred . . . Boromir. Death strikes at all those I love, and I am helpless. All my life I have tried to be strong. I have had no choice. But now I will need all my strength, just at the moment of my greatest weakness.  
  
'Éomer . . . you must . . .'  
  
A soft footfall behind me made me stop, before the look on his face froze my blood.  
  
'My lady, it is hardly safe for you to visit these levels unescorted.'  
  
If any of the Valar still look down on us mortals, let him speak not of our agreement! Not in front of Éomer!  
  
Perhaps he has only come to gloat over Éomer's imprisonment. Or to torment me merely with his presence. Perhaps he will not say anything . . . else this sacrifice will be as worthless as were the others.  
  
'I desire to speak with my brother in private,' I said, and my voice was chill. 'I hardly think I need protection from him.' Not nearly as much as I need it from you!  
  
I let go Éomer's hands slowly and turned to face him fully, drawing myself up as well as I could, praying for a strength I knew I did not have. I will not let him see me afraid.  
  
'Nevertheless, you should exercise more prudence. I would not have it said that you keep company with common criminals.'  
  
His eyes glittered darkly, but I was at a loss to guess his purpose here. Unless it was to try to exercise his new authority over me? 'Blood is blood, my lord,' I said, striving to keep my voice level. Perhaps that would satisfy him. Never before had I addressed him as lord outside the King's presence. 'And whatever crimes he may have committed, Éomer is still my brother.' I took a long, slow breath, struggling for calm as I felt my resolve crumbling, resisting the urge to catch hold of the bars to support myself. 'Wilt thou not have pity on me in this hour, and leave us in peace a moment longer?'  
  
My hands were shaking as I clasped them behind my back. A dangerous game it was I played, such a fragile web of deceit hiding my desperation from both men, my most beloved and my bitterest enemy. Let neither see my thoughts!  
  
He smiled, and my heart shriveled within me. 'As you wish, my dear,' he said. Surprise at this sudden agreement turned to apprehension at the endearment. Perhaps it would go unnoticed . . .  
  
Not likely. I felt Éomer tense behind me, though I could not see him. Gríma's smile widened. He reached out a hand, and I forced myself not to flinch as he touched my hair softly, winding one strand around a finger.  
  
I spoke before Éomer could, and my voice was deadly. 'Take your hands off me.'  
  
He obeyed, but slowly.  
  
'Is it thus a woman speaks to her future bridegroom?'  
  
And so it comes undone . . .  
  
He could not see how my hands shook, but Éomer surely could. Not that it mattered, not anymore. Pure shock was all that kept my brother from speaking now, and I knew it was over. My heart was as wet paper, crumpled by careless fingers. The last remnants of my pride spoke then, as I lifted my chin and looked in his eyes.  
  
'I know not what stinking barn you were raised in, but in this hall a man does not touch a woman until they are wed!' I hated myself for the way my voice trembled, breaking on the last word.  
  
He reached out again, this time drawing his fingers lazily across my cheek. His hand brushed lips turned bloodless, then moved slowly down my neck in a gruesome mockery of a caress. It would have been less painful to me if his fingertips were soaked in acid.  
  
There was a rattling of metal as my brother threw himself against bars. 'Take your hands off her, worm!' Éomer's shout echoed in the stone corridors, and I flung one hand out blindly, behind me, grasping for his arm. My fingers curled around his wrist, nails digging into the flesh of his hand, as if by the strength of my grip I could restrain him. His pulse beat fast, furious, against my palm, but he said nothing more. We both stood as though turned to stone, as Wormtongue twined his hand in my hair.  
  
'That day is not far, my dear,' he said. He took his hand away, but his eyes ran over me as though I was wearing nothing at all, and I struggled not to shiver. 'I look forward to our wedding night.' He smiled again, and turned to leave, walking away slowly as if he owned the hall and all in it.  
  
  
  
It was an effort to unwrap my fingers from Éomer's wrist, but as soon as I did so I mumbled something about needing to be elsewhere, to see to my uncle.  
  
Éomer was having none of it, though. His face looked as pale as I felt, but his hands around my arms were like iron. I struggled vainly against him as he pulled me roughly against the bars and held me there. I could not meet his eyes.  
  
'It is the only way!' I said at last. Red marks from my fingers were slow to fade on his arm, and I could see the crescents where my nails had drawn blood. I could feel his eyes on me, confused, angry, helpless. This wasn't supposed to be happening!  
  
'What is the only way? Éowyn . . .' His voice was taut. 'What manner of bargain have you made?'  
  
'The only one I could,' I said. 'The one I had to.'  
  
I forced myself to look up, and almost reeled back from the sheer force of fury in those blue eyes.  
  
'You will not do this,' he said. The words were ground out, desperate. 'You will not do this for me.'  
  
Oh Éomer! Would that I had been born a man, as thou! Life has been so much simpler for you, fighting orcs and guarding the borders of our land, while others lived in the rot at its heart. Now you must learn what I had to learn, these many bitter years . . . the pain and the necessity of compromise. Fortunate are you, that you never had to learn it before!  
  
'What would you have me do?' I demanded. 'Would you have me watch you beheaded like a common criminal? For I will not do it!' I was shouting at him now, and some part of my mind recognized I was near to hysteria. 'You cannot ask me to do it! You are all I have left, can you not understand that? I will not lose you, too! Whatever the cost, I will not lose you too!'  
  
My raised voice brought the guard running from his post at the entrance to the prison levels. I looked away from Éomer, distracted, but he did not release me. It was a good thing he did not, for his hands on my arms were all that kept me from falling to my knees right there.  
  
'Lady!' The guard stopped in front of me, uncertain. Peering more closely at my face, he laid a hand on my arm. 'Are you all right? You are white as a ghost!'  
  
I took a shaky breath. The guard looked between me and Éomer, concerned, but not sure what to do. I had seen this man before, and I knew him to be one of those who despised Wormtongue and what he had done to our hall. He could not believe that Éomer was a traitor, nor that I would be in danger from him. Still, his duty was clear, and it was even clearer that I was in distress.  
  
'Unlock this door.' He looked at me. 'I said unlock it!' My voice wavered on the edge of tears, but I was past caring. 'Let me in there! And then leave us.'  
  
The guard came to a decision swiftly, pulling a ring of keys from his belt and inserting one into the lock. The door swung open, and I let myself fall at last.  
  
Strong arms caught me, held me, crushed me so I could hardly breathe. He was supporting nearly all my weight, pressing me against him so I could feel the beating of his heart against my cheek. He smelled of sweat and straw and horses, and for a moment I fought simply to breathe normally. All the strength had gone out of me, but he was tense as a drawn bowstring, I could feel it.  
  
'Éowyn! Éowyn!' I squeezed my eyes shut, burying my face against his shirt, unwilling and unable to answer. Helplessness was one thing Éomer despised, and yet there was nothing he could do now, no way for him to shield me, and at last I believe he knew it. 'This shall not come to pass!' he said softly, roughly. 'I shall not live knowing my life was bought at such a price, from one I love so!'  
  
You have no choice, Éomer! I thought, shaking my head wordlessly. I had no strength even to cling to him, as the tears came at last, racking sobs that hurt, dragged forth from some place deep inside me I hadn't even known existed. I wanted to believe his words, to believe he would make everything all right, as he had promised so often when nightmares had frightened me as a child. But we were children no longer, and this was not something against which I could let him protect me.  
  
He did not relax his hold on me, and in my tears I took comfort from his simple physical presence, the warmth of his arms, the evidence of my senses that he was close. He knew better than to think that my lack of response meant I had agreed with him, but it had been so long since he last saw me in tears that he would not argue with me now. He buried his face against my hair, squeezing me tighter as though he could shield me with his body alone. A painful surge of love swept through me, along with the realization that the cruel necessity of compromise was something Éomer was not young enough still to learn. No matter how many times I might explain it to him, there was a part of him that would never accept that there was a reason he had to allow his sister to submit to such a marriage, even for the security of the Mark, much less to save his life.  
  
After what seemed like hours, my sobs gradually subsided, and I leaned against him quietly, refusing to open my eyes or say a word that might shatter the fragile illusion of security that had stolen over me, in the circle of Éomer's arms. My legs felt like water and would not support me. It had grown dark outside by this time, and no more light came from the tiny windows high in the ceiling at the end of the hall. The only light came from a tiny lamp outside the cell, but I blinked as I finally forced my eyes open.  
  
Hesitantly, I looked up. My brother's face was taut and drawn in the yellow light, the face of a wild stallion caged and desperate. He looked somehow hopelessly lost, and his eyes when they met mine held a profound grief. There was that in the set of his jaw that told me he was still seeking a way out, a way that he might protect me, and I knew he would never stop seeking. There was so much I wished I could say, but my throat was too choked with tears, and I could hardly begin to absorb what this day had been. The end of life, the end of hope . . . and we were left, two survivors of a wrecked nation, clinging to one another amid the ruin, awaiting the final stroke.  
  
In one motion he swept me off my feet, cradling me against him so my head rested against his shoulder. He lifted me as if I were a child, feather- light in his arms, holding me close a few moments before he brought me to the pile of straw on the other side of the cell, laying me down gently and brushing a lock of my hair away from my face. No one had tucked me into bed thus since my mother died when I was young.  
  
A thousand thoughts struggled for expression behind those eyes, but he only touched my shoulder. 'Shh,' he said. 'It's all right, sister. Sleep now.'  
  
I could not disobey. I wanted to ask him to stay till I woke, as I had done when I was a child, but that was foolish. The door was locked; he wasn't going anywhere. My eyes closed, exhaustion catching up to me as I let myself drift into unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Such are a dim light and a cold comfort in these days, but they were all I have left." An Eowyn story. Try it, you'll like it.

A/N: First off I think I owe you all an apology. This fic seems to have taken on a life of its own, it seems. First I make it look like I'm going to write an Aragorn/Éowyn fic, then I throw Boromir's name into the second chapter . . . but I was having so much fun torturing Éomer that I decided to write another chapter of it, and still no Boromir. However, Boromir is going to be in the next chapter, I promise. This seemed to be the logical next step, though, as I refuse to believe that Éowyn and Éomer, and other Rohirrim not loyal to Wormtongue were simply sitting there waiting for Gandalf to show up and fix Théoden for them.  
  
I came back to wakefulness slowly, disoriented. It took me a moment to remember where I was, and why I was lying on a pile of prickly straw instead of in my own bed. The memories I had of the previous day were not pleasant, and I lay for some time quietly, simply allowing myself to remember as the weak sunlight slanted in from the high window at the end of the corridor.  
  
And watching my brother pace. He had not slept this night, that was obvious. Nor did he realize yet that I was awake. The cell was small, barely wide enough for two of my brother's long strides each way. Still he did not stop, moving restlessly across the cell. If I knew my brother, he had kept himself so occupied for a while, if not the entire night. It is always possible to gauge Éomer's mind by watching him pace, if one knows him well enough, and I had seldom seen him so disturbed by anything. He moved swiftly back and forth, in quick, jerky strides, his eyes fixed on the floor.  
  
He stopped as his eyes lit on me, halting abruptly. There were deep shadows under his eyes. He did not look tired, though. He looked tense, alert, every inch of his tall frame fairly vibrating with suppressed energy that could have no outlet. He looked ready for battle, ready to strike.  
  
His face was that of a man who has long chased his own thoughts round in circles, yet found no solution and no peace. When he spoke, his voice was strained.  
  
"I am a fool."  
  
I pushed myself up on one elbow, sitting up slowly and brushing straw out of my hair. I felt curiously exhausted still, and so drained from the emotions of the previous day that I was able to look at him with some semblance of calm.  
  
My brother was anything but calm. I had never seen his face so haunted, in all the years Wormtongue had been at Edoras. I drew my knees up to my chest, clasping my hands around my knees and resting my chin on my hands.  
  
"Will you not sit down and rest awhile?" I asked him finally, as he continued to pace. "You must be weary."  
  
He hesitated, but eventually he lowered himself to sit across from me with his back against the stone wall. Still he did not look at all relaxed. His eyes ran constantly over the walls and door of the tiny cell as though seeking any means of escape. Finally he turned back to me.  
  
"This is why you sent him away." His voice was flat.  
  
There was no need to ask of what he spoke. I only nodded.  
  
"You knew, then, that Wormtongue desired you."  
  
"Aye," I said softly.  
  
His eyes blazed in sudden anger. "And you said naught to me? For seven years you have kept this secret from me!" I said nothing, only looked at him. And so, once again, I have hurt one whom I love dearly. Would that there had been some other way! His voice dropped, but still I almost flinched from the anguished fury in his tone. "Why?"  
  
I forced myself to look at him, to meet his eyes. "For the same reason I kept it from Boromir," I answered softly, sadly. "Tell me now--and truly, Éomer--what would you have done if you had known?"  
  
He struck one hand violently against the stone floor. "I would have handed you his head upon my spear!" he said fiercely. "Need you ask that? I would have protected you against any who sought your hand against your will! Can you truly have doubted this?"  
  
"I never doubted you, Éomer," I said, shaking my head. "Believe that, I pray you! I knew well you would have challenged him, and you would never have won, not against all the King's guard. Nay, they would have slain you right there, and then who would have protected me?"  
  
"Seven years ago the worm's hold on Théoden was not so strong!" he grated. "If you had told the King of this then--"  
  
"There would have been no way to prove his intentions," I said. "Wormtongue would only have used it to make me look the fool, and to get you out of his way all the sooner."  
  
"I cannot believe even now that the King will see you wed to this wretch!" He sprang up from the floor and began to pace again. "Surely if you told him all--I cannot believe he can have fallen so far!"  
  
"Can you not?" I asked, softly. "That is because you have been ever away upon the East marches. You have not watched as daily the worm's hold over Théoden grows stronger. But surely this influence can be felt even in the field now, especially in the East! You have watched the Shadow growing there, I know, for I have heard the reports you sent back. Did you not see how far Wormtongue's reach had spread, when reports of the Enemy's preparation brought no orders to you for answering mobilization?"  
  
"The King loves you as his own daughter," he said finally. "That cannot have changed."  
  
"He loves you as his son," I pointed out, "yet at Wormtongue's orders he is prepared to see you put to death." He was silent at this. "Still Théoden shall never have to force me into marriage, for I have already assented, and he will not gainsay my choice of husband."  
  
"How could I not have seen it?" He swung round, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "How can I have been so blind, to what was in front of my face for so many years?"  
  
"You were far from here," I reminded him gently. "How many nights, this past year, have you slept at Edoras? You have not watched him day by day, as I have, nor did you know what things to look for."  
  
"He has planned perfectly for this!" A flash of self-disgust crossed his face. "And I was so easy to trap! It is I who have brought this choice upon you."  
  
"Nay, Éomer," I said, looking up and holding his gaze. "You did what honor and prudence dictated, for the safety of our land and our allies! If such brought about the wrath of our lord, then you have only shown the greater courage for daring to do what you saw was right. You have accomplished much in spite of Wormtongue. The matter of my unwilling marriage is a small price compared to that."  
  
"It is not small to me!" he growled. "Nor will I hear you say it is so."  
  
Oh my brother! I thought with a pang. If I would seem to reject your love and your protection, do not think the offer does not warm my heart when I so desperately need it! At least I know I am not alone yet, here amid the ruin of our house.  
  
Before I could reply, footsteps sounded from the corridor. Éomer froze, one hand going for a sword he no longer wore.  
  
A familiar voice calmed my fears, as I heard Elfhelm the Second Marshal. "Speak of this to no one, and warn us of any approach." And the guard, the same who had been on watch last night, murmured assent. Éomer let his hand fall to his side, but he did not relax appreciably even as the tall Rider came to the bars.  
  
Second only to Erkenbrand among the hosts of the Rohirrim, Elfhelm had succeeded to Théodred's command upon my cousin's death, much to the consternation of Wormtongue. A veteran of many campaigns, he had a reputation for a loyal heart and a level head, both of which were too scarce in Edoras lately. A man of few words, who seldom allowed himself to be hurried in times of peace, he could move faster than a striking snake in combat, and had a reputation for making himself everywhere at once. Two decades of service had won him a respect in the court and in the military that even Wormtongue dared not yet challenge openly. Still, it had been easy enough for Gríma to keep both Théodred and Elfhelm constantly upon the borders, where they could not hinder his designs. Only Théodred's death had brought Elfhelm back to Meduseld for a brief time, to pay his respects in person to his King and the father of his friend.  
  
There was a faint flicker of startlement in his eyes when he saw me, and I smiled faintly. It was no easy thing to surprise Elfhelm.  
  
"My lady." When he spoke, he was his usual unflappable self. "I did not expect to find you here."  
  
I rose and came to the bars of the cell. "I am here of my own decision, and free to depart at any time," I assured him, reaching out through the bars to take his hand. He raised mine to his lips. "I have not yet had time to welcome you with fitting words, or to thank you for returning to us in this hour of grief."  
  
He bowed his head briefly. "I am sorry it is such an occasion that brought me hither, but no less glad at your presence, lady," he replied. "But we must put aside courtesy for more serious matters." His gaze was penetrating. "I have come home to find you both imprisoned, though you, lady, may still be free to walk about the hall."  
  
So it was now common knowledge, my decision to wed. From his words I guessed Théoden had not questioned the idea, and I fought against a new sense of betrayal. "You have heard aright," I replied levelly.  
  
He looked from me to Éomer, who scowled at these words, and back to me. "The guard here now is friendly to us all, but I cannot risk staying too long. Therefore we must plan quickly." He folded his arms across his broad chest, seeming to gather his words. "You must know, lady, that the King has not long to live."  
  
I nodded, feeling my throat tighten. It was one thing to fear that naught but death would release my uncle now. It was another to hear it from the lips of one such as Elfhelm, who was certainly not one to worry unless the situation were grave indeed, and who had been loyal to Théoden all his life.  
  
"Then you must also know that it is not only lust that draws the Wormtongue's eyes toward you. With Éomer imprisoned and Théodred slain, you are the only heir Théoden has." Again I nodded. "It is not hard to guess how he gained your consent. And while I will not fault you for it, our position grows more precarious as his grows more secure."  
  
"I had no choice," I said. Éomer looked up fiercely and would have contested that answer, but Elfhelm continued. He spoke slowly now, almost reluctantly.  
  
"I have served Théoden King all my life," he said. "And I have known him to be a brave warrior, a generous and shrewd leader, and a truly great man. I know not what power is in this creature who has taken his pride from him, but the Mark must free herself of the Wormtongue's grip even if the King will not, and quickly." He held each of our gazes in turn. "Our one advantage lies in this: if he believes his position secure with the Lady Éowyn his wife, he may become less cautious."  
  
My eyes narrowed as I realized his purpose in coming here, and I darted a quick glance down the corridor. "You speak of treason," I said quietly.  
  
"I speak of honor," he corrected. "I speak of oaths made by the House of Eorl, of which you two are heirs--oaths of alliance to the lords of the White Tower of Gondor. I speak of courage, to stand up for the right, against friend as well as foe, if our friends follow craven counsel. I speak of prudence. Even you, lady, must feel the Shadow in the East." I listened solemnly, knowing the truth of his words though I wished I could deny them. "And yes, I speak of treason. For though I do not know if he serves Isengard or Mordor, I know Gríma Wormtongue serves some other master, one who would delight to see us fall."  
  
The air in the cell suddenly felt close, almost stifling. Éomer's face was pale and tense. "Long I have suspected this," he said at last. "Do you say that there is some way we may prove this? Or do you propose to remove him by force?"  
  
"Even were it possible to prove his allegiance, the King's mind is so twisted by his deceit that I fear he would not understand such proof." His face was still, his eyes sad. He seemed calm as ever, but it was clear the death of Théodred had affected him. There was a clear resolve in his voice that I had heard in few men's since before Gríma came. "We cannot harm Gríma without risking the King's wrath," he said. "In this matter I fear we must consider the two allied, and there is little hope Théoden may ever be freed. Too little for us to stake the security of the Mark on it."  
  
"You cannot be suggesting--" Éomer began, but Elfhelm held up a hand.  
  
"I will not lay hands on the King himself, nor allow any other to do so," he said. "Nor could any of us justify our actions to the people, if we seized power from the rightful King by force. We must wait, and at the moment of Théoden's death be ready to slay the Wormtongue, before he can take the throne. It must be done swiftly, and it must not fail, else we risk more bloodshed and possible civil war."  
  
Éomer wrapped both hands around the bars. "Would it not be better to delay the marriage? Then Wormtongue can have no possible claim to the throne, and as soon as the King dies he can be arrested for his crimes."  
  
Elfhelm looked at me. "The only way the marriage can be delayed is at the word of the Lady Éowyn," he said. "And if I judge aright she will not give it."  
  
"I will not," I answered. I met Elfhelm's gaze steadily. "In the coming war we will need all our able commanders, and my brother is too valuable to lose." He inclined his head slightly, as if to concede it was my decision to make.  
  
"I would not lay this upon you if I saw another way," he said gravely. "But it may be for the best if you endure this a little while. Indeed, you may be our best hope for a swift and peaceful coup."  
  
My eyes widened slightly. "Indeed," I agreed. "A meek and docile wife he may think me, but maybe he will regret allowing me so close to him, when mine is the hand that strikes him down."  
  
Éomer's face was dark, but Elfhelm was nodding slowly. "You would have opportunities as his wife that none others would have."  
  
"Is there no other way?" said Éomer furiously, rounding on me. "Is there no other way, that we must allow the wretch to lay his filthy hands on you?"  
  
I looked to Elfhelm, but he made no response, leaving me to answer. Never, I knew, could I allow Éomer to see how that thought terrified me. Still I had no choice, and we all knew it. To refuse would be to see Éomer die, and miss what might be our best chance to rid this land of the corruption of Wormtongue.  
  
"There is no other way," I said, softer than I had intended.  
  
Elfhelm did not like the idea either, I could see. "I would not ask this of you, lady, if there were any other way," he said finally. "But you still hold the King's trust, and the Wormtongue will suspect you less than myself or any of the King's guard."  
  
Éomer's face was white with rage, and his hand, clenched around iron, trembled. But his voice was steady as he asked, "How many of the guard remain loyal to the House of Eorl?"  
  
"Gríma has had the time he needed to remove the most outspoken of his enemies," Elfhelm replied. "Those who serve him in the palace serve him out of fear. If we are successful, they will be no threat once he is dead. If we fail and our plans are revealed . . ."  
  
"But it is Wormtongue who always insists that a large force of Riders remain near Edoras," Éomer said slowly. "My own men will support me if they are nearby. If we can get the word to Éothain and Léof . . ."  
  
Elfhelm was shaking his head. "Unless he is a fool, Gríma will replace you with a man loyal to him, and not allow your second to claim the command. Or, if that cannot be done, with one so incompetent he will be useless to us. We cannot count on his support, whoever takes your place."  
  
"Can you not take Éomer's command yourself?" I asked him. "With your reputation, even Gríma could not dispute it."  
  
"I have stretched my reputation as far as it will go, even in retaining Théodred's command," Elfhelm replied gravely. "Even you, lady, cannot know how far the Wormtongue's reach extends in the military."  
  
"And your sword is needed at the Isen," Éomer said. "Éothain is loyal to me, and so are all my officers, to me and to each other. If we can alert them in time, they can take care of whoever Wormtongue puts in command, and still be here to support us."  
  
"We shall have need of their support, if anything goes wrong," Elfhelm warned. "In this we trust much to your estimation of your Riders' skill and loyalty. But you know your men best."  
  
"They will support us," Éomer said firmly. Elfhelm nodded.  
  
"Then I shall have a message sent to your second," he said. "I shall be at Edoras but a few days more, for my own men miss me at Isen. Send word to me if the situation changes, or the King grows worse, by any messenger you can trust. I will not come here again, for no one must suspect me of conspiring with one convicted of treason, or you of ambition for the throne. If the Lady Éowyn visits her brother few will think it strange, but you must exercise caution."  
  
He signaled to the guard, who unlocked the door. Éomer looked like he wanted to say something, but he only clasped my hands tightly.  
  
"Stay safe, sister," was all he said. I wanted to tell him not to worry, that I would be all right. But there was nothing I could say that would comfort him. I caught his hand to my face, blindly, then turned and slipped out of the cell.  
  
"If Wormtongue decides that Éomer is a threat to him," I said softly to Elfhelm as we walked up the stairs from the dungeon levels, "what then?"  
  
The Marshal was silent awhile, and I did not need to look at him to see he was troubled. "To save Éomer then we would have to risk killing the King ourselves, before the Wormtongue could kill Éomer. And I have taken oaths, oaths to serve him and protect him." His voice dropped, and for the first time in my life I saw him uncertain. "When one's liege lord proves faithless, where can honor be found? Is it the greater dishonor to betray a faithless lord, or to serve him blindly?"  
  
I could make him no answer, for the same question had tormented me for years. I had never known Elfhelm well, but Théodred had spoken of him often, and trusted him. So had the King, before Gríma came, and in my childhood he had been at Edoras more often, before war called my cousin and his men away more often. I had been impressed by this strange man's calm and self-assured demeanor, as a man who knew himself and his duty.  
  
There was little of that calm assurance now, and it frightened me more than a little to see it go. If a man like Elfhelm, who Théodred had said would not be disturbed if confronted by the Enemy Himself, was doubtful, what chance was there we should be successful?  
  
"Where duty calls in two directions, a man must judge as best he may." It surprised me that I was able to speak so calmly. "When the great neglect their charges, the lesser must fill their places if they can, and the more honor to them if they are successful."  
  
"And if we fail, we shall be executed for our temerity," he replied. "But honor will matter but little when all are dead. If we cannot save Éomer," he continued, and his voice was the more intense for being barely above a whisper, "you must be prepared to take the throne. The people know you and love you, and they will follow only one of the House of Eorl, whether man or woman. And you have the strength for it, I think."  
  
Do you believe that I do? I asked him silently. For I do not know that I believe it. He bowed very low and kissed my hand. Then, in a gesture that caught me completely off guard, he gripped my shoulders gently and pressed his lips to my forehead.  
  
"May it never come to that," he whispered. "It tears my heart to leave a lady so brave and loyal unprotected; nay, to deliver her into the enemy's very hands, for there are none in Edoras you might look to when I am gone, even if you would! Understand that I like this no better than your brother does, and I would spare you if I could. But we live in times that allow us no choice."  
  
His eyes were alight, clearly torn, and I was strangely moved. As an adult, I understood how much of the surety I had admired in this man as a child came from his loyalty to his King and his commander, and the knowledge of their loyalty to him and to our home. Now Théodred was dead, and the King had abandoned him to fend for our country without the support of the throne. He looked like a man who had discovered the beliefs by which he had lived his entire life no longer held any meaning to anyone else.  
  
And I knew, too, that there was a part of this man that would always see me as the golden-haired child who had once sat on Théodred's knee, and that every fiber of his body revolted at the thought of sending me to Gríma's bed.  
  
But I was a child no longer, even if he had been away too long to watch me grow up. To live in Meduseld with Wormtongue is to grow up swiftly, and I knew more of treachery than he did, for all he was twenty years older than me. Though chivalry might not be dead in all the Rohirrim, there were those things against which no man could protect me. I had learned that painful lesson seven years ago.  
  
"I shall send you word as soon as I may," I said, drawing myself up and trying to look stronger than I felt.  
  
He let his hands drop to his sides. "I go to the front at Isen where my men wait for me. I leave you to fight alone, on a front far more deadly. You carry the hope of all Rohan, and maybe Gondor as well." He bowed again, very low, then turned away. I stood watching him until he was out of sight, feeling a large measure of my own calm and security leaving with him, as it began to dawn on me just what we had agreed to attempt.


End file.
